72

Leah

Two nights later, on Tuesday, the day after Christmas, after one of Owen’s sermons, he shut his thick, worn Bible and said, “Tonight, Leah, I would like for you to come with me.” Dread spread across my chest and I looked over at Lucy, who gave me a quick, secret nod as if to say Do whatever he wants. I stood and followed Owen up the stairs, leaving a fuming Heather behind with the kids.

The thought of being separated from Lucy again tore through me, but I climbed the steps. Outside, it was night. A few feet away from the door to the cave, Owen had built a huge fire. I was afraid that somehow he found out we had tried to escape, but he sat down on a red wool blanket and patted the space next to him.

“Come here, sit down. I just want to talk to you, to get to know you better, Leah,” he said. He had this unnerving way of never breaking eye contact. I felt queasy but sunk down anyway and stared into the fire.

He asked me all kinds of questions about myself, about my sexuality, if I had ever been kissed or touched before. I lied and said that I hadn’t, not yet anyways, and he smiled and shook his head as if he’d just won a big prize. He stood up and started stirring the fire, poking a long stick into the logs, sending a spray of orange embers flying.

He told me that Lucy had said I would come for her, had warned them about me, and here I was. He shook his head as if in wonder. “I have been waiting for a sign that it’s time to leave, time to move on from this place, and you, Leah, you are that sign.”

He had a dark green jug and took a long swig off it, wiping his mouth afterwards. He shook it toward me, asked me to have some with him. “It’s wine,” he said. I didn’t trust him but I took a small sip to appease him, the wine actually feeling good as it warmed my damp body.

“Your sister is very special,” he said, his eyes shining with glee. He told me that when he found her, he wasn’t even looking for more children. He was driving through Longview and just happened to be cutting through our neighborhood to run an errand. But when he saw her—all alone, walking down the street, her head shaking with golden curls as she listened to her Walkman—he said it was like seeing an angel, and he knew that she was the chosen one. His plan was to groom her to be his virgin bride, to keep her innocent until her thirteenth birthday, when he would perform an elaborate ceremony. It would be a long wait, he said, but he knew she would be worth it.

The wine soured in my stomach but I stared at him as if I understood, and then he led me back down to the cave.